Her Will
by Luminescent Orange
Summary: The god darkness has been on Earth for thousands of years, taking many forms – most relevantly, L – when the light looks upon the planet and rejects His influence. She manifests Herself as Light Yagami. She wants order; He wants to quash more than Kira.
1. Dawn

Again, this one is for the little bro'.

Anyway. A few notes on the setup of this story.

The only characters who have been altered in any significant way are Light and L. If you see anything odd about them -- which you probably will -- just roll with it.

Beyond Birthday himself remains unchanged. However, all other information from The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases has been ignored. Therefore, the Wammy House is consistent with the anime and manga -- not the book. In Her Will, it was created _before_ L. BB is just another potential successor.

This starts in a time just before Light received his death note. The prologue is set in a rather different place.

* * *

**Prologue.**

_It began with light. _

_The Radiant, the Just, the Everlasting Solaris—She who carved from Her flesh the worlds of Everon and Singing Silence, amongst countless others, She to whom beings of spirituality knelt and prayed (or, conversely, rejected). Her influence was felt amongst the many realms. She had witnessed the Creation, and was counted among those who would watch and breathe power into the Destruction. She had sixteen titles to Her name and was sung of with respect even by Her great enemies._

_The light looked upon the realm of humans and found Herself highly displeased._

_Earth was a territory primarily dominated by the Powers of lightness and darkness. They had created it together in a time before animosity governed their relations. It was a stain on Her memory and thus had been largely ignored._

_At one point, a point in the past, it had seemed that its people would be ruled by order. However, the darkness had taken upon itself to seep into the fabric of its society, and when the light deigned to observe it, the humans were fighting amongst themselves, creating chaos and brutality. _

_So she cut from Herself a swath of material, which swirled and shone with Her brilliance. She looked farther into the realm of humans, searching for a body worthy of her cause. Finding none, she chose a boy of sixteen years. He was healthy and attractive amongst his kind; he had a name she felt appropriate of her presence. _

_He was called Light Yagami. _

_She made a small incision on his skin and fed Her material into his body. Then, within him, She quashed his feeble intelligence and threw his life into Herself, using the meager energy to feed Her greatness. Because She was no longer capable of communicating with the material, She built a second being, an avatar incapable of interfering with mortal awareness to guide Her mannequin according to Her will. In a mockery of the darkness, She created it in the likeness of a Shinigami. _

_In accordance with this, She assigned to Light Yagami a black notebook, the weapon of the monsters, and sent him forth to fashion an Earth of justice. _

* * *

**Chapter One.**

In Winchester, England, on the floor of a computer room in a small orphanage dedicated to the Betterment of Extraordinary Individuals, an exceptional young man was taking his tea. He was approximately twenty-four years of age, had messy black hair falling all over his angular face and could claim fourteen Glorious Titles amongst the gods. He also had three human ones, for which he was greatly respected. Because of this, his tea was being delivered to him by a proud man named Quillsh Wammy.

"With six sugars, sir, as you like it."

He nodded politely. "Thank you, Wammy." The elderly man spoke in a consistently condescending tone. He was under the impression that he was doing _L _a favor, rather than the other way around. This suited L perfectly fine.

He accepted the tea, then gestured to one of the desktop computers he'd arranged in a semi-circle around his body, the one directly in front of him. It was displaying numerical data corresponding to an ongoing string of Irish bank robberies. "I would like your opinion on this. The perpetrator seems extremely erratic – I've been watching him for several days and can discern no pattern."

Wammy bent to look. L watched him scan the numbers.

"I can see nothing, sir. I'm certain your talents are well beyond my own -- if you were unable to …"

"L! You're back!"

They both spun to look toward the doorway, where a blond teenager was now standing, clutching a large stuffed rabbit in his left hand. His eyes were very wide and bright. The smile on his face suggested he was intensely pleased to see his friend again.

L smiled. "Yes, I am. Mr. Wammy too. Mello, say hello to him.

"Oh, hello, Near," he added, absently.

A second boy appeared, ghostlike, behind the first. He bowed to both of them. "Hello, L-sir. Hello, Mr. Wammy."

Mello snorted and gave them stiff little bows, echoing his companion's words, then shot over to where they were gathered and sat cross-legged, next to L. Near followed suit while Mello was propping the rabbit up against the computer.

"So, didja' catch him?"

L smiled down at him. "Weren't you following the news, Mello? Yes, I did. I always do." This was not strictly true, as he was quite pleased to let those exceptionally disruptive of society to their own devices, but the others in the room had no way of knowing this.

Mello grinned back. "Good. Told ya' so, Near."

"I never suggested he'd do otherwise," Near informed him curtly. He tugged at a tuft of his white hair.

Mello shot him an intensely malicious glare.

Before the fight could escalate, L twisted the monitor in their direction, tapping the screen with his forefinger. They looked away from each other immediately and leaned closer to the data. "Now. Neither I nor Mr. Wammy could discern any sort of pattern -- except location, I suppose, but that's currently irrelevant. Perhaps you two could give it a …"

There was a sudden shudder in the air. He broke off, confused.

The others looked at him curiously.

Immediately, the temperature became inexplicably cold, then hot, then cold again. His vision seemed to waver. He felt a splintering pain across his skin, like the bites of a thousand stinging ants. And then the moment ended, and his perception returned to normal.

His eyes widened. He dropped his tea. The liquid splashed across the floor, granular red-brown and lukewarm.

Ignoring the perplexed gazes of his friends and coworker, L stood, placing the nail of his forefinger between his teeth. "Something has occurred to me," he announced around the object. "It is vital that I investigate it immediately. I doubt that it can be resolved quickly, so please don't wait for me. Mello, Near, it is very good to see you again. We can talk more tomorrow." With that, he exited though the double doors.

He strode through the hallway as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run, conscious of the security cameras placed at odd intervals on the ceiling. When he reached his private office (which was kept untouched even throughout the long stretches of time in which he worked away from the Wammy House) he removed a tiny silver key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock and turned. He gave the cameras a dirty look, as if to suggest that they were bothering him and therefore ought to cease working immediately. Then, ignoring the doorknob, he pressed his palm to the centre of the door and shoved inward.

It swung open to reveal a simple room, surprisingly warm and with walls and wood flooring painted a solid black. There were three windows along the back wall, a strange abstract painting in reds and dark, angry purples above a wooden desk, and a potted plant with gold foliage beside it, all of which comprised the sparse decoration; otherwise, it contained six pieces of furniture, all of which were sickly looking manifestations of fairly ordinary objects. He slouched across the room and climbed into a spindly iron chair placed in the corner furthest from the door, pressed his finger to his lips, then stared blankly at the wall opposite him.

The sensation had been unmistakable -- the interference of a god, the introduction of a new Divine material into his planet. He was certain of the perpetrator, too; he had sensed the lightness's signature.

He drew his legs up to his chest and closed his eyes. It was true that she would not have been able to conceal the interference entirely from him – he had an extensive knowledge of Earthly patterns and was, regretfully, very familiar with her signature. However, a god of any caliber would have dampened it slightly, hoping to evade him in a moment of distraction. She _was_ arrogant enough to simply ignore that possibility, so that was one explanation, albeit one he found highly unlikely.

No, he decided. Not just unlikely -- impossible. She was not stupid. She knew of his skills, was familiar with his substantial intelligence and prowess. This was a challenge. A frivolous, childish challenge.

A challenge that L would win.

He flicked his hand at the wall. It immediately burst into flames. Paint bubbled and warped, peeling away from itself; though thin and seemingly unexceptional, it seemed have suppressed something threatening, because as thin strips curled away and fell smoking to the floor, the sound of tortured screams sprung from what should have been brickwork but was revealed to be a deep, empty expanse of nothingness.

He moved his hand again in an awkward grabbing gesture. A handset phone appeared in it, pinched between his forefingers. He dialed into the air, and it began to ring. Casually, he dangled it beside his ear.

"Watari speaking," said Quillsh very politely.

"Hello," replied L. "I trust you know who I am. Please send Beyond Birthday to my room."

* * *

A funny little tune was playing when Light Yagami awoke. For a second, he found himself quite unable to place it—though definitely musical, it lacked the glorious simplicity and symmetry of that which he was accustomed to—but the memory of his human host was quickly accessed and utilized, and his confusion tossed aside. Beethoven, it was. And the result of his alarm clock, which he had set the night previously so as to be ready in time for school.

He stretched and squeezed the foreign muscles into a sitting position, then ran this thought through his head. He was an honors student, first in his class -- first in his _nation_ -- always prompt and ready with satisfactory answers, awing his teachers and earning a nearly universal respect from his classmates. And therefore it would not do to be late. God or not, he'd chosen a shell and was thus obliged to imitate the human's patterns.

He stood. The rest of its mind could be explored later, while he prepared for the day.

And he fell backwards, gasping.

There was a creature standing in the middle of the room—a tall, humanoid thing with feathery decorations stitched to its neck, a gigantic white smile spread across his face. It was staring at him hungrily. He was able to name it not because of his host but from his own Divine knowledge—a Shinigami, an inhabitant of its own realm, parallel to this world but separate, unlikely and unintended to interfere in such an obvious manner.

It was holding its hand out. He looked down, almost expecting a nasty surprise (a dead animal, perhaps, or a note from the darkness, because they were His creatures, were they not?) but it was carrying a death note.

He took a step backwards -- a deep breath -- and composed himself, giving it the coldest look he could possibly apply to his primitive features.

"What do you want? If you—or He—think I'm going to use _that_, you're entirely insane. A human with such a weapon is against the natural order. You know that."

The thing laughed: an unpleasant, throaty sound. Instinctively, he stepped back again, hands brushing against his desk chair.

"How unkind. And here I was, thinking _you_ were the one that sent me, Beautiful One."

Light lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that? You come from Him, of course -- He of Virtuous Cacophony?"

"No." It walked towards him, holding the notebook in front of its body, strange crackling sounds coming from its joints. "I already told you. I came from _you_ -- or from myself, I guess. But you wouldn't remember that." It laughed again.

"So…" he looked at it, raking his eyes along its hideous body. "You are my guide, since I no longer have a direct link to my own Divine thoughts?"

It nodded. "Yeah."

"Then…" He held out his hand, fist closed. "You won't mind my testing you." Without waiting for an answer, he threw the fist across his body, opening his fingers wide when he reached the limits of his arm, manipulating the vocal chords into the rendition of three high-pitched notes. The Shinigami blinked. The fabric on its chest and the flesh beneath suddenly opened up, revealing a hollow interior and glowing liquid material where the edges of the wound melted and dripped down its body.

He nodded curtly. "You are mine, then. You have my signature in you."

"What have I been trying to tell you?" It tossed the death note at him; he caught it and held it gingerly, as if it were likely to explode or begin leaking toxic juices all over him should he accidently touch it too firmly. "Listen. Use the notebook a judgment tool. Kill the humans who are causing trouble with it -- something obvious, something that will get attention. They'll figure it out after a while, stop doing whatever you don't want then to be doing. Easy as pie. My name's Ryuk, by the way."

Light looked grimly at the notebook. "It's stretching my code, but I guess it makes sense." He paused, then rolled his eyes and smiled. "What am I saying? Of course it does. I made it up. Thanks, Ryuk." He touched the book with his centre finger, then blew on it lightly. It appeared to fade, mistlike, becoming invisible and untouchable. When this was done, he drew a small amount of Ryuk's liquid toward himself, formed it into a compact, marble-sized sphere and placed it in his pocket. He resolved to find a proper hiding place for the book once he was familiar with his new room.

Ryuk watched this with interest. "No problem. Well, I guess I'll be off. I'll come back when you've got new instructions for yourself." It sealed itself up, then snapped tattered black wings from its back, jumped to the windowsill and took off, flapping into the predawn sky.

As soon as it was gone, Light returned to his bed. He flopped onto it, shuddering with disgust. Shinigami were truly disgusting creatures; he could not imagine what he'd been thinking when he decided to use one of them, much less one of their _weapons_.

Nonetheless. He supposed he should begin by watching the news, uncovering the individuals he'd watched and despised from the Divine realm. He had to admit the practicality of this method. Humans were hybrid creations, primarily of lightness and darkness but also of elements from other gods, so killing them was nearly impossible without physical proximity. And death notes were perfect for quick long-distance elimination, which he assumed to be vital.

He sighed. It would, of course, be necessary to maintain this façade of normality, of still being the human Light Yagami, if he wished to cause minimal disturbance among the mortal lives. And so he needed to get dressed and ready for class.

He got off the bed and began what were to become his daily preparations.

* * *

+ Reviews are loved -- constructive criticism, randomness, whatever comments you have, they're all greatly valued.


	2. Incite

Toshi, who appears in this chapter, is one of the two friends Light walks home with in the manga. He's the kid with glasses.

**Chapter Two**

Light was pleased to find that there was a great advantage to operating from school. His memories revealed to him that he possessed two parents. One was generally absent. His mother, however, was very doting and would have interfered. He also had a sister, Sayu, who frequently interrupted him for homework help and general chit-chat. Tedious as it was, class was a relatively quiet environment. He even toyed with the idea of bringing the death note with him; amongst the multitude of writing paraphernalia contained in the faculty, a single notebook and pen would not look at all unusual.

The main difficulty was the enthusiastic nature of his peers. He was frequently assaulted by some girl or another, who consistently wanted his company or – distressingly – commitment. The males also thronged him, squawking their uninteresting stories like seagulls.

He snuck off from the crowds at lunch, disappearing into the library. By then, he was beginning to regret having chosen such a popular person.

On the internet, he discovered that the information he sought was quite easy to find. He flipped through page after page of disruptive persons and compiled a list of the most troublesome. It seemed to him that eliminating all these people would take a great deal more time than he had. Furthermore, the erratic nature of his judgments might encourage further problems, inciting people into confusion and blind fear.

Therefore, he would have to decide upon a single category of persons. He was in the middle of doing this when his friend, Toshi, appeared with an answer.

Toshi dropped into a chair next to him and leaned over to see what Light was looking at—which, at that moment, was a web page dedicated to influential politicians. "Hey, man. What the hell are you doing?"

He shrugged. " A research project," he said, which was true in a way. "I'm trying to decide which class of people is most influential to society."

Toshi grinned. "That's easy, Light-kun. Look." He commandeered the mouse and keyboard and navigated onto a digital newspaper. He began flicking through it, stopping now and then to allow for the reading of a headline. "See. Practically all they talk about is—"

"—crime," finished Light, almost breathlessly. He stole the mouse back and bent closer to the screen, looking though it himself with wide, eager eyes. There was a feverish look on his face, something animalistic and vicious. "That's perfect. Perfect. And no one—well…thank you, Toshi."

Toshi blinked. "Um. You're welcome?"

Light afforded him only a brief, distracted nod. In his head, he was creating a new list, a better list—no one _cared_ about criminals, they'd realize he was doing them a service if it was the lowlifes and deviants he was killing off! Anything else would have been met with resistance. But these--! His hands clacked across the keyboard, fishing for new names, new fodder for his perfect world.

He stopped.

It was Toshi's idea. If he began this, the boy would certainly recognize the concept, and that would create a trail leading directly back to Light. He gave him a sideways glance, then turned back to the computer and continued typing.

No matter. He would simply kill him. He'd do it without the death note so his demise would not be connected to the transformation. Toshi was a friend; it would be an easy task to procure time alone with him. It certainly wouldn't hold Light back.

Beside him, his friend pushed his chair back and stood, mumbling something about a girlfriend he'd promised to meet for lunch. "See you later, Light."

"Yeah." He almost laughed out loud. It was just that easy. "Hey, you want to play basketball after school?"

* * *

After Quillsh agreed to send BB to his office, L dropped the phone into empty air. It disappeared as if into some invisible pocket.

He stood up and slouched to the door. He stuck his index finger into his mouth. When he drew it out, it was dripping with a pink, saliva-like substance. He jabbed the knob several times in sharp succession. This evoked no visible changes – to the knob or otherwise. He backed away and stood a few feet from the door.

After a moment, he gave the it a pointed look.

There was a faint clicking sound. Other than that, it remained entirely unchanged. He sighed, and rolled his eyes upwards. "I am working within a _very_ limited timeframe," he announced, "and would thus greatly appreciate full co-operation. Selection _one_, please."

The door did nothing.

He flicked his fingers. A little flame appeared above them, glowing an eerie green.

Immediately, there was a rustling sound from the door, like papers fluttering in front of an open window. The colors in the room blurred and melted together. A sudden wind appeared and swept his hair around. A rancid smell, like dead things rotting, rose from the walls. Still his vacant expression remained; the only sign that he'd noticed anything at all was a swift nod in the direction of the door.

When the room settled, it had been altered completely. The walls – which had previously been black-painted, screaming and ripped apart – were now complacent shades of tan. The abstract art was replaced with a brightly colored oil of a flower field. A glass table sat in the middle of the room, set with tall glasses of iced tea and a bowl of colorful candies. The floor was wood paneled. Generally, it had transformed from something sinister to a sophisticated, inviting study.

He looked over it, then waved his hand at the table. The bowl of candies disappeared. He waved again. A jar of blueberry jam and two pieces of toast on white plates appeared in its place. L smiled.

"Thank you. The food was a nice touch."

He walked to an armchair and sat in it, then tucked his knees up to his chest. He waited.

Perhaps ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door. He got out of the chair and slouched to the door again. He directed a fancy little flourish at the knob, then turned it and pulled it open.

"Hello," he said.

There was a teenager there, a boy several years his junior.

Beyond Birthday was a tall, birdlike person. His slouch as pronounced as L's; they had the same spinal condition, though BB's was genetic and L's was essentially an item of design. He had a large, beaklike nose, and wide, bulging eyes. Insomnia and an affinity for nocturnal wanderings had given the latter deep, dark bags. He wore his shiny black hair shoulder-length. These factors, combined with an unfortunate habit of holding his elbows high and away from his body, gave him the unlucky appearance of an oversized raven.

L greeted him with a nod and ushered him inside.

"I'm very glad that you could make it, Beyond. I'm conscious of your busy schedule, so it is flattering that you would make time for my selfish whims."

BB nodded. He brought his thumb to his mouth and nibbled at its nail. "I am always pleased to see you, L. It's an honor, of course! Nothing less then a honor." He almost always spoke in an incredibly enthusiastic way. There was a subtle sarcasm to it: a patronizing note in his breathy, nasal voice that L certainly did not miss.

He smiled anyway. They often played this game – each insulting the other with saccharine courtesy – and he thought it would be best to keep the front. "An honor for both of us, then. Please sit down, B. I've obtained jam for you – your favorite, I believe."

"Yes, yes!" BB clapped his hands together and danced towards the table, where he sat in the larger chair. "I prefer strawberry, of course; I'm allergic to blueberries, but I am sure you've only forgotten that! I won't eat, but I certainly do appreciate your kindness, however dreadfully misguided it may be."

"I'm very sorry." L sat across from him and leant forwards. "Iced tea, then?" He lifted a glass cup to his own mouth and drank.

BB grinned and tipped back his own cup. An expression of mild disgust appeared on his face. "Very delicious! I hate mint, which you have so kindly and considerately mixed into the substance, no doubt entirely without that knowledge. However, the tea is certainly of high quality. I will drink regardless."

As BB poured it into his mouth a second time, L brushed his own fingers carefully against each other. The boy did not appear to notice – that would have been impossible, of course. This subtle action had added Divine material to the drink – but it was colorless, and the change in flavor would have been obscured by the mint. Nearly anything else (lemons, for example, or sugar) would have done exactly the same thing, but L preferred to torture his protégé.

He watched BB carefully. "Once again, I must apologize."

"No, no! Do nothing of the sort. It was surely not your fault." The rest of the drink disappeared down BB's throat. "What did you want me for, L?"

L shrugged. "Nothing of any real importance. I have data on criminal activity that I would like you to evaluate. Watari, Mello, Near and myself have all been unable to discern a pattern."

"Ah! Of course! I am always pleased to elaborate where you have been unable to uncover success!"

L nodded vaguely and walked to the back of the room. The laptop was sitting on top of a pale wooden desk. It was plugged in, charging.

He shrugged and turned back to his guest. "My electronics seem to be otherwise occupied. Your input would not be so important as to warrant the disruption of its task. Therefore, I must ask you to leave. I'm sorry for wasting your time, BB."

BB's face twisted darkly.

A faint energy, nearly undetectable, rose from his body– L watched with interest. Within a moment, the energy disappeared. BB grinned again, apparently unaware. It seemed a slightly skewed expression, as if he were trying very hard not to leap forward and throttle someone.

"No, I'm just sorry I could not be of more help. I know you find laptops very difficult, L! It would be a shame to inflict further trials upon you. Thus we will leave the object undisturbed."

L smiled back as Beyond left the room.

He was such a wondrously unstable person.

**End of chapter two.**

The BB and L scene was very fun to write. Hope it was equally fun to read.


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